Beast
by Bellantry
Summary: Victor Creed discovers another mutant who can quiet the demons and soothe the animal within him. How far is he willing to go to keep her when an enemy from his past uncovers his one soft spot? Victor Creed/Birdy
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

_**Memories fade, feelings subside, little remains true. - Felix Mendelssohn**_

* * *

Bernadette Chaudet stood quietly beside her grandfather; her tiny hand engulfed in his fist. The murmurings of sympathy of those passing them in a long line that seemed as though it would never end echoed deep in her mind. She stared at the ebony casket sitting on the ground across from her. The lid was covered with a mass of red carnations and white roses. She tried not to look at the coffin which was holding the only thing she had ever really loved.

Tears burned in her eyes and she huddled closer to the only person she had left.

Bernadette fancied that she could see her mother laid out in her favorite purple dress. She had peeked in the casket at the funeral home and gasped in horrified shock. Someone had covered up her mother's bare scalp with a mass of glossy black curls. Her mother had been gloriously blonde before her hair had started coming out in clumps… before the sickness had weakened her. She had never seen a wig before and Bernadette couldn't understand why someone would put such a fake looking, silly thing on her mother's head.

She had thought to rid her mother of the monstrosity, but her Pépe had caught her red-handed standing on a stool with one arm thrust into the casket; her small fist buried in the clingy, tangled curls.

He had dragged her to a nearby closet and administered several slaps to her posterior.

Bernadette hadn't cried; she had no more tears left after Pépe had come home from the hospital. He had set her down on the couch beside him and explained her mother was now residing in heaven with God, the angels, and her father. Bernadette wished she could remember her father, but he had died in a war just after she was born. There had always been just her mother and Pépe.

Now there was only Pépe.

A tall man with dark hair and a kind face stopped in front of them. He was dressed in a military uniform and shook hands with her grandfather. "Pierre, I'm sorry about Mignon. She was a wonderful person."

"Merci, Colonel Stryker." Pépe released a deep sigh that rattled through his chest like a dying gust of wind. "The past week has been hell."

Stryker bent at the waist and held out his hand to Bernadette. "Miss Chaudet, I'm very sorry about your mother."

She stared at his hand and then into his dark eyes. There was something swimming deep at the edges of his gaze. Bernadette could feel her eyes widening. Little pictures were taking shape in those terrible dark eyes of his. Skulls with wide open mouths seemed to grow as though trying to open up wide enough to swallow her whole.

Bernadette could feel her heart slamming against her ribs. She gasped and moved behind her grandfather; grabbing at his jacket and positioning him between herself and the skull-man who stood staring down at her with his dead eyes.

"Bernadette," Pépe began in exasperation. "Come out here…"

Stryker stood and gave her grandfather a kind smile. "Don't chastise her, Pierre. She's been through a great deal."

Two men came next. Both were tall with dark hair; scruffy looking with a lot of hair on the sides of their faces. They were dressed in olive uniforms with shiny black boots. One was slightly shorter than the other. The shorter man shook hands with her Pépe and talked in a low voice to him before turning his attention down to her.

"Hey there, kid," He had a warm, soft voice and a kindness which radiated around him like a glowing light. Bernadette could see and feel the light; it was like being in the sun. "I'm sorry about your mom. She was a special lady." He jerked his chin at her dress. "You like pink, huh?"

Bernadette nodded and moved out cautiously from behind Pépe. "Mommy bought this dress for me."

He grinned. "Your mom had good taste. My name's Logan and you must be Bernadette."

She took a slow step forward and when Pépe didn't stop her, Bernadette ventured closer. "Yes, I'm Bernadette. Why do you have such a hairy face?"

Logan laughed and touched his sideburns self-consciously. "Just comes natural, I suppose. What you don't like my sideburns?"

Bernadette shrugged and looked up at the man standing just to the side of Logan.

He was like a giant in one of the stories her mother used to read to her as a little girl. His hair was just as dark as Logan's and he had sideburns as well that grew down each cheek and covered his jawline. The hair on his head was shorter than that of Logan. Instead of dark eyes, this man had deep blue eyes filled with _something_… Bernadette concentrated as she stared up at him.

The man stared back; his face held no expression whatsoever.

_Pain… fear…_ Bernadette could feel each emotion like being she was being shoved. She narrowed her eyes and noticed he did the same. Digging deep, she focused…

_Loneliness… he was so alone… even in a crowd of people… so very alone… he was alone even with his brother…_

Bernadette felt a moment of profound sadness for this giant man. The emotion led her to do something she almost never did. She stepped around Logan and directly in front of him. Tilting her head back, she looked him in the eye. "I'm Bernadette. What's your name?"

He looked down at her like she was a bug or something just as gross.

Logan reached over and smacked the other man on the shoulder. "Don't be antisocial. She's a kid for crying out loud."

The man's eyes slid to Logan and stayed there a moment before returning to her face. "Name's Creed."

She looked at his hands and noticed his nails were much longer than most men she had seen; sharp like animal claws. Without thinking, Bernadette reached out and took his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Creed."

His hand was burning hot and so large it could engulf her own like he was holding a bird's egg. The skin was rough, patches rubbing little scratches on the back of her wrist. He stood there staring at her as he closed his hand over hers.

Bernadette could hear screaming, could smell something hot and coppery like burning pennies. Above the terrible sounds, she heard the sound of a boy crying, sobbing as though his heart had been broken. She looked up at him and his eyes narrowed to mere slits.

"Why are you so sad, Mr. Creed?"

Creed growled deep in his throat and dropped her hand like a burning coal; wiping his palm along his pant leg as though it was covered in dirt. "She's a damn psy-mutant, ain't she?"

Pépe grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back against him. "Please excuse my granddaughter, Mr. Creed. She is young…"

"She ever tries that shit with me again, she won't get any older." Creed stared at Bernadette briefly before moving off on stiff legs after Colonel Stryker.

Logan tried to smile. "Hey, don't worry about him, Pierre. He's been pissy most of his life. He didn't mean anything by it."

"He's very sad," Bernadette spoke up. "Somebody hurt him really bad."

Logan tousled her hair. "You see a helluva lot, kid. Best learn to keep some things to yourself. Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

Logan reached out and laid his hand on Pépe's shoulder. "I'm terribly sorry about Mignon."

Bernadette watched him walk away and join Creed. The giant man turned and looked at her for a long time before finally following Logan and Stryker into the crowd. She wasn't afraid of him. She was worried.

* * *

Philip Stryker sat at his desk sorting through reports. He was so close in finding the last few items he needed in order to begin the experiments that would result in Weapon X – the perfect soldier. He had leads on mutants that could help his cause; some willingly, like Logan and the others working under him, and others who would find themselves… _persuaded._

A knock sounded on the door and he sighed. It never failed that when he was faced with a mountain of paperwork the interruptions would begin. "Come in."

He was surprised to find the hulking figure of Victor Creed filling the doorway.

The mutant nodded once. "Colonel, can I have a word?"

Stryker gestured for him to come in before closing the file he had been studying. He set his elbows on the desk as Victor shut the door and slowly ambled over. "What can I do for you, son?"

"Mignon Chaudet. She wasn't a mutant, was she?"

Stryker's brow wrinkled as he considered the question. "No, Miss Chaudet was not a mutant. She was a fine nurse and a good soldier." Chaudet had been an army nurse since she had graduated from college in Louisiana. He had personally picked her as a member of the medical team who worked on the top secret project he oversaw. "Why do you ask?"

Victor was looking out the windows on the far side of the office; staring out at the soldiers passing by. He watched them carrying out various duties for a few minutes before speaking. "She may not have been a mutant, but her brat sure as hell is. Who was the kid's father?"

Surprise washed over Stryker. He sat up straighter in his chair. "I have no idea who Bernadette's father was. I never asked Mignon and she never volunteered the information." A sense of dread snaked through his belly. "What makes you think Bernadette Chaudet is a mutant?"

Creed brought his hands together. He ran his thumb across the palm of his right hand as he continued to watch the soldiers outside. "Kid shook my hand at the funeral earlier. She was reading me… my emotions. Accurate little shit."

Possibilities flitted through Stryker's mind as he watched Creed. The mutant was out of sorts and it wasn't like him. "You are certain she's a mutant?"

The look in Creed's eyes was one of murder. "I'm fucking sure. Jesus, Stryker, I'm not a damn imbecile."

"What would you like me to do? I know you aren't in here spilling your guts for fun."

Creed sneered in his direction before heading to the window. He leaned against the windowpane. The sunlight looked as though it were powerless to disrupt the aura of darkness that shrouded the feral mutant. "I want the kid."

Stryker leaned back in his chair. "Excuse me? I don't think I heard you correctly, Captain."

Victor Creed turned slowly in place. The light pouring through the window cast him completely in shadow so that it was impossible to read his face. "I said that I want Bernadette Chaudet. No questions asked by you or anyone here in the program. She belongs to me and to me alone – no fucking interference from you. No trying to find her – _no nothing_."

"Christ sakes, Creed!" Stryker didn't give a shit about mutants – children or not – but he wasn't the type to allow a kid to be given to a known rapist and murderer. He wiped his hand over his mouth and stood. "Bernadette is only seven. She's just a baby. What the hell are you thinking?"

A deep snigger erupted from the dark figure across from him. "Don't worry, Colonel, I'm not interested in the little bitch in the biblical sense if that makes you feel any better. I may be a lot of things, but a pedophile isn't one of them." He emerged into the light over Stryker's desk and stared hard at the man across from him. "I've always been loyal and I haven't asked you for a damn thing. I think Bernadette Chaudet is a very small favor in the scope of what we've been doing."

Stryker shook his head. "Do what you want. I'm warning you, Creed, if this can be traced back to the program –to me – you'll be dealt with _severely_."

Victor Creed smiled crookedly; exposing one abnormally long, sharp canine. "I understand just fine. I need a week off."

Stryker returned to his chair and sat slowly. "Take two weeks. I leave it up to you to make your excuses to Logan and the others."

Creed snorted and shook his head. He slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Bernadette sat on the window seat in the upstairs hallway. She was playing haphazardly with a Barbie doll her grandfather had bought her. Two tall bookcases stood on either side of the window seat; framing it in. The deep cushion was soft and comfy and this was Bernadette's favorite place in the entire house.

She could hear Pépe's radio playing from the den downstairs.

The street was filled with a long line of houses; two story, brick, with white trim and black shutters. Some had porches and pools out back. Bernadette's mother only had a flower garden and a swing hanging from an old oak tree. Bernadette remembered her mother telling her that she had no time for pool maintenance.

Bernadette set her Barbie on the cushion beside her and knelt on the cushioned seat so she could see the street. The hair on the back of her neck began to prickle. She placed her hands on the glass and let her eyes roam the street in either direction.

_Someone is coming…_

The thought popped into Bernadette's mind unbidden. There were times she had the most horrible feelings and those feelings were right. When her mother went to the hospital, Bernadette _knew_ she wasn't coming back.

Now Bernadette knew someone was coming.

A dark shadow seemed to divide from those in the garden. The afternoon sun was sinking along the edges of the horizon. Bernadette knew it was going to be dark soon. She also knew that the shadow was the person her secret voice had told her was going to come.

Bernadette frowned as the shadow divided itself from the evergreen tree in the Silverman's front yard.

A man stood watching her. He was dressed all in black with a long coat. The face held burning eyes like blue fire and he wasn't smiling. The man's face was still furry on the sides because he didn't shave like her Pépe did. The man was Mr. Creed from her mother's funeral, only he wasn't wearing his uniform.

The man stepped onto the sidewalk and held up his hand. One nail lengthened like a cat's claw and he gestured for her to come to him with that terrible hooked nail.

Bernadette frowned. She understood with no words that this man would come to the house if she didn't go out to him. The knowledge came from her very bones. She pushed herself off the window seat and headed down the stairs. Bernadette made sure to hang on to the railing as he mother had taught.

The foyer was empty.

She listened for just a moment to her Pépe snoring gently over the sound of a clarinet playing in the background. Sitting down on the bottom stair, she pulled on her shoes and tied them; her chubby fingers fumbling with the laces. Finally, she had the laces tied and stood. Her white sweater was hanging on the closet door where she had abandoned it earlier in the day.

Bernadette pulled it on before carefully opening the door. She stepped outside and listened to see if her Pépe was waking up. When she heard another reassuring snore, Bernadette felt her heart skip a beat as she closed the door behind her.

Mr. Creed was on the sidewalk now in front of her house; his hands jammed inside the pockets of his coat. He was staring at her in a way that made Bernadette take a backwards step. A large, terrible grin crossed the man's face. "Uh, uh, uh," he raised one eyebrow. "I'm like the big, bad wolf. I can blow the house down and get you anyway. Do you think I'm lying, kid?"

Bernadette shook her head. "No."

"Come on over here. Do what I tell you and don't piss me off. Be a good girl and your grandfather gets to live out the rest of his miserable life." He watched her from heavy eyes; as though tired. Bernadette remembered her mother looking that way after she came home from work.

"Do you need a nap?" She asked once she stood in front of him.

The man grinned and revealed two long canine teeth; they looked to Bernadette like the teeth the dog next door had. "I'll have plenty of time to take a dirt nap one day." Mr. Creed gestured with his head to follow him as he began to cross the street.

Bernadette didn't want to follow the angry man, but she understood deep in her bones that if she didn't obey him he would send her grandfather to heaven. She _knew_ what he would do. She fell into step beside him. "Why would anyone want to sleep in the dirt?"

He cast a dark look in her direction. "Figure of speech, kid. You're coming with me and we're gonna figure out a few things."

Bernadette followed him closely through the dim shadows congregating in the Silverman's back yard. It wasn't until they emerged on the next street that Bernadette stopped walking. "I'm not going home, am I?"

Mr. Creed frowned and turned toward her. "No." He raised one eyebrow as he looked up at the sky. "Tell you what, kid, if you aren't in that car by the count of ten, I'm going to rip your guts out and then I'll go back to your house and make your grandfather eat them." He pointed at a dark blue sedan parked just across the road. "One…"

Bernadette ran across the road and went to the passenger side of the car. He opened up his door and slid inside before reaching over and opening her door. She pulled herself in and slammed the car door before looking at him. "What are you going to do to me?"

He studied her closely for a moment. "Honestly, kid, I have no fucking clue."

"You said a bad word!" Bernadette gasped. "Pottymouth!"

A dark laugh rumbled through his chest as he slipped the key into the car's ignition. "Kiddo, my _pottymouth_ is the least of your problems right now. Put your damn seatbelt on and shut it."

Bernadette pulled on her seatbelt and clicked it into place. She was quiet as he started the car and pulled away from the curb. As she watched the familiar neighborhood pass by; she instinctively understood she was never coming back.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to everyone reading and to those who reviewed. I appreciate it. I probably won't update again until this Saturday.

Disclaimer: I don't own Birdy, Victor, or X-Men.

* * *

The Winchester Hotel was a favorite of Victor Creed. The exterior of the building was pleasantly old-fashioned as a remnant of the more gracious Edwardian era. Eleven stories sculpted from stone with a slate roof. The interior boasted one of the most beautiful lobbies Creed had ever laid eyes on and he had traveled all over the world; black marble floors that gleamed in the suffused light coming from French chandeliers which had been wired for electricity in the 1920's. The walls had elaborate plaster work including sculpted rosettes that he was sure had taken days to complete. The front desk was mahogany and the furniture elegant Victorian pieces upholstered in chocolate-colored leather.

Not only was the Winchester visually appealing to Victor, but the policy of the hotel's owner was even better – no questions asked.

Victor had done a couple of favors for the old man back in the early 60's… one of which was gutting and disposing of an errant wife and her tennis playing lover. Apparently the bitch had thought she struck gold in marrying Edmund Lowell; she decided to start dating her younger tennis instructor all the while planning to sue for alimony.

Lowell had been so grateful after his wife's disappearance that Victor Creed had a permanent welcome mat rolled out for him at the Winchester Hotel.

* * *

Seattle was dreary this time of year – all rain and damp.

Victor leaned against the window casing and stared out over the sunset attempting to blush over the misty grey cloud-cover. Lowell kept a two bedroom suite on the tenth story for Creed's personal use whenever he was in town. The furnishings were something out of his childhood…

'_Make that Jimmy's childhood.'_ He snorted with disgust. His younger brother had been raised in a life of privilege in the forbidding Canadian Northwest Territories while Victor had been forced to endure servitude and abuse. The pair shared the same father – though Victor would have characterized the drunken brute as nothing more than a sperm donor.

Victor rubbed one eye with the back of his knuckle; careful not to hook his flesh with the claws he allowed to grow ever longer with each passing year. He didn't mind pain, hell he thrived on it, but popping his own eyeball like a pimple wasn't his idea of fun. Years earlier, he'd been shot clean through one eye while serving in the trenches during World War I. It had taken two years for his sight to come back proper.

He turned and looked over to the long, plush leather sofa. "You hungry?" Victor had driven two days straight with only drive thru garbage and bathroom breaks to sustain him.

Bernadette had picked at her food; mainly eating a few fries and sipping Coca-Cola. She was a tiny girl for a seven year old; small-boned and fragile looking. The pale blue corduroy pants and Winnie the Pooh shirt she wore were looking a little raggedy and dirty after sleeping in the back of the car. His nose twitched as she shifted on the sofa.

_Piss…_

The sour stink and male pheromones in the dried urine on her pants was enough to fog up the entire place. The last rest stop they hit, she half fell in the men's toilet. It was just his luck the damn stall was filthy like some dumb, more likely drunk, fucker had waved his magic wand all over the place while he took a piss. Victor had been standing outside the stall while Bernadette used the commode when he heard and splash followed by soft crying. She had come out with a wet ass and yellow piss stains on her white sweater and knees of her pants. He had remained quiet and made her wash up best she could in the sink and dry off with wadded up paper towels before bringing her back to the car.

The stench reminded him the kid would need new clothes.

Bernadette looked over at him and nodded once before looking down at her knees again.

Victor crossed the room and dialed the front desk. He ordered directly from the concierge, Stefano, who had been waiting on Victor for the past twenty years and knew his likes and dislikes inside out. Once the food had been ordered, Victor paused. "I need some clothes for the kid."

Stefano was like his boss, Lowell, in that he asked few questions. "Can you tell me her size? I will have some outfits picked up for you this evening."

Victor eyeballed Bernadette, but the last thing he wanted to do was scare the little shit by pulling down her pants to check what the tag read. He was liable to slice her into ribbons before he listened to any hysterical screaming on her part.

There was nothing Victor hated any more than listening to a bitch scream – grown or pint-sized.

He scratched at his throat absently. "She's seven years old. That help any?"

"The information is good enough for now, Mr. Creed. Would you like nightclothes and underwear as well?"

"Yeah, get me a week's worth. Oh and Stefano," Victor eyed Bernadette as she continued to stare at her knees. "Get me one of the ladies from the bar. Send her up around midnight." He needed to get off before his balls turned blue and rotted.

Stefano's voice remained smooth and businesslike. "Certainly, Mr. Creed. I will put in your order for dinner and other items. Have a pleasant evening, sir."

* * *

Victor hung up the phone with a feeling of satisfaction filling his belly. This was one of the few places that he was treated with respect; the other being in Colonel Stryker's unit. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. He stalked toward the little girl with his nose twitching.

"You know how to take a bath alone?"

Bernadette nodded her head without looking at him.

He frowned; disturbed by the fact he actually preferred the chatty kid he had met at the funeral to the sad sack stinking up the sofa in front of him. Victor grabbed her under the arm, careful not to pull it out of the socket or bruise her.

Marching, he pulled her along to the smaller bedroom. Flicking on the light with a claw, Victor walked through the immaculate room decorated in pale blues and straight into the bathroom. He released her and watched as she leaned against a wall and hugged herself.

He snorted. "Don't act like such a fucking baby." He rolled up his sleeves and moved to the tub; filling it with pleasantly warm water. "I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but I ain't your daddy. You're gonna have to do some growing up."

Bernadette looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Creed. I don't like to be stinky."

Victor paused before pulling a fluffy white towel off the rack and dropping it beside the tub. He stalked back into the bedroom and yanked the adult size robe from where it was hanging on the back of the door. He took a whiff of it and smelled only laundry softener. Grunting, he stood in the bathroom doorway and tossed the robe on the bathroom floor beside the towel.

"Throw your clothes in the garbage – everything except your shoes. Understand?"

Bernadette nodded; her dark eyes large and wide as she took him in.

Victor nodded and shut the door firmly behind him. Shaking his head, he returned to the lounge area to wait for room service. He had a lot to think about and he needed to make a few decisions.

* * *

He was nursing a scotch from the minibar when Bernadette finally returned from her bath. The cart from room service, complete with starched white linen tablecloth and silver-domed warming lids, was sitting between the two sofas which faced one another. Victor had consumed his rare steak and customary three potatoes while waiting for the kid to finish bathing.

Victor was a simple man and liked simple foods: steak, pork, lamb, chicken, bacon, and some vegetables like potatoes and various greens. He consumed fruit often and preferred fruits to items like carrots or corn. Occasionally he would eat a dessert – fruit pies being his preference.

He had never been someone to stand on ceremony; if a person was late to chow too bad for them. If there was any grub left, they got the dregs.

Bernadette looked like she was lost in the white robe as it dragged out on the floor behind her; the sleeves completely covering her arms and draping over her hands. She was rosy from the warm water and her golden hair, normally soft waves, was a pale brown when wet and a tangle of curls.

Victor took another drink and savored the rich flavor of the alcohol as it rolled easily over his tongue and burned his throat as he swallowed. He set the crystal tumbler on the stand beside him and gestured to the cart. "I ordered you a cheeseburger and some fries." He hadn't been entirely sure what to feed the little girl.

Bernadette toddled over to the cart and lifted a lid. "Thank you."

He stayed quiet as she pulled free her tray and sat on the floor in a mountain of white cotton to eat. She picked at her food but ate a good half of the cheeseburger and a third of the fries. The cola she drained until only ice cubes remained tinkling in the glass as she stood to return it to the cart.

"You eat like a damn bird, kid."

Bernadette finished putting her plate on the cart before speaking. "Mommy used to say that too."

Victor pulled out the bag Stefano had brought him only a few minutes before Bernadette had emerged from her bath. Inside Victor had found six shirts, six pairs of pants, a lilac-colored dress, a package of socks, a pair of opaque white tights, a package of girl's underwear, and a girl's red wool jacket. The price tag had been a whopping $450.00 bucks. Still, it was worth the money since he didn't have to be bothered dragging Bernadette all over Seattle trying to buy her clothes. He hoped the shit fit her.

He toed the bag in her direction and jerked his chin at it. "I got you some new clothes. Might need to buy you another pair of shoes though."

"What are you going to do with me?"

Victor stared at her. He began to drum his claws against the armrests of his chair. "Come over here."

The little girl moved slowly until she stood near his left knee, but not close enough to actually touch him.

He studied her carefully. "What did you do to me at the funeral, Bernadette?"

She looked confused; her nose scrunching up a little. "I don't know what you mean…"

"When you took my hand," Victor ground out from between clenched teeth. He had no time to fuck about and zero tolerance for bullshit. "What did you do to me? See, I was all pissed that day. You took my hand and it stopped – the anger just evaporated." Upon seeing her puzzled expression, he heaved a sigh. "Evaporated means it disappeared… went away. So what the hell did you do?"

Bernadette shrugged. "I don't know."

Victor froze; the rage, the pure animalistic desire to rip and destroy was rising in him right along with the frustration at her answer. "You don't _fucking_ know?" He growled. "Bernadette, you better figure it out."

Her deep brown eyes went wide as he leaned toward her; his teeth exposed as his lips drew back in a snarl. "But I really don't know…"

Victor grabbed her by the bicep and squeezed hard; satisfaction swimming through him at her squeal of pain. He wanted to shake her like a rag doll until all the stuffing fell out. He let out an animalistic growl when she did something he didn't expect.

Bernadette placed one small hand across his furred cheek. Her small face was awash in terror as she drew in shallow, harsh breaths.

He felt it in that moment just as he had at the funeral with her tiny hand folded deep in his huge palm.

A softness pushed into him, seemed to take the edge off his anger; cool his rage. He could feel the tenuous tremor of calm like what came after a storm. The burning desire he had to hurt her, to hurt anyone he encountered in that state, began to retreat within him before dissipating entirely. In place of the mindless rage, Victor felt only peace.

He let his eyes drift closed as his mind flowed freely; bereft of the uncontrollable, unquenchable anger that stalked him relentlessly. Victor could think without the anger controlling him as it so often did.

In place of burning desire to maim, to kill, he was left with placidity.

Victor took a deep breath and released it.

When he opened his eyes, he could make out just the barest hint of a glow around the little girl who stood with her hand pressed to his cheek and her eyes screwed tightly shut. He felt like he was looking at her standing in front of a blazing noon day sun leaving a fuzzy white aura lining her form.

The glow wasn't just something he could see, no, Victor could feel it deep inside.

He made up his mind at that moment not to kill Bernadette Chaudet.

"Look at me, kid," Victor rumbled.

She winced before slowly opening her eyes; to his surprise the brown irises were completely gone. Instead, he found two large black pupils staring into his very soul. He felt a push against his mind, a whisper soft sensation akin to someone pushing his fringe back.

'_Please don't hurt me…'_ Bernadette's voice echoed in his ears only her lips were tightly closed.

Victor gently closed his hand around her tiny wrist; using care to handle her. He was fully cognizant for the first time at how truly delicate the child was. "I'm not gonna hurt you." Victor pulled her hand away from his face. "Time to go to bed." He rose in silence and gathered up the bag of clothes before heading to the smaller bedroom of the suite. "Come on."

Bernadette stumbled after him; her small feet tangled in the far too large robe. Her eyes were still a pair of black pits staring at him without blinking.

Once inside the bedroom, Victor dropped the clothing on a chair. He pointed at the bed. "Get in bed and go to sleep." He kept his voice a quiet rumble. "Bathroom is in here so don't leave this room until I come get you tomorrow morning. Got it?"

The little girl moved past him like a sleepwalker and pulled herself onto the bed. She dug her way under the quilt and pulled it over herself before looking up at him. The pupils were grower smaller, traces of the irises returning. "Yes."

Victor nodded, satisfied. "Good." He left without wishing her a goodnight. Standing just outside her door, he rested his hand on the door knob. "Now I know what you can do. Question is what to do _with_ you."

* * *

Kara Solay lay on her side, curled up in a fetal position, choking and sputtering uncontrollably. She watched in terror as the man across from her calmly buttoned his fly like nothing untoward had just happened. Finally, she turned her head and coughed up snot and spit and sperm onto the marble floor beneath her face.

"Figures," The man rumbled as he tilted his head to watch her. "I haven't met a whore yet worth her salt when it comes to sucking cock." He leaned against the large sink vanity and stared down at her with cold, pitiless blue eyes. "Not since the last time I was in France anyway. American whores say they give great blowjobs, but I find them subpar." He was speaking as though having a polite conversation.

Kara blinked, her eyes burning. She wiped a hand over her face and gasped upon seeing the slick, crimson wetness against her palm. "Whaddya do…" She managed to gurgle.

The man shrugged and reached for the beer bottle he'd left on the sink when they first had come in to the spacious bathroom. He took a long pull from the bottle before crossing one long leg over the other at the ankle. The complete casualness of his stance made the situation all the more frightening to Kara.

"Looks like you might be missing a piece of scalp," he remarked cheerfully. He held up his left hand and wiggled it almost playfully; it was caked in dried blood with a few hairs under one of the claw-like nails. "I might have gotten a little carried away. I suppose I owe you extra for the inconvenience." The man pulled out his wallet and dropped a wad of money in front of her nose.

She could feel a burning at the back of her head and clear into her neck. Kara reached out a shaking hand and grabbed the money… six one hundred dollar bills. She stuffed the money down into her bra before hauling herself up on her hands and knees.

Her john winced a little before shaking his head. "Now that looks like it hurts, honey." He tilted the bottle to his lips and took a swig of beer before setting the bottle on the marble vanity beside him. "You might wanna have a doctor take a peek at that."

Kara stumbled and made it to the vanity beside him. She was trembling all over but her clothes were in relatively good order. Blood and semen stains decorated the shoulder of her black velvet dress, but there were no rips or tears. Her face was another story altogether.

One eye was swollen shut and a bruise was forming along her left jaw. Long, deep scratches marked her flesh along her ears and up under her jawbone; disappearing into her hairline. She should have known better as soon as the guy opened the door.

He was good-looking in a rough way; tall, broad, muscular. He had on nice jeans and a clean black oxford shirt with a pair of scuffed up leather boots. She thought he looked a little like a cowboy in town for the weekend wanting to party. Kara had been with men like that before. The john had offered her a beer, but she had declined and told him her hourly rate and what that rate included.

'_Stefano sent me. One hundred dollars for a blowjob. Three hundred if we screw, but you'll have to use a condom – no riding bareback. I don't do anal so don't bother asking.'_

Stefano… Kara wanted to kill him for sending her up to the suite without telling her the client was a mutant. She had screwed mutants before, but she preferred not to. Mutants more often than not liked things far kinkier than she did.

Kara was already in the suite with the door closed when she caught sight of the man's claws. He had been unscrewing his bottle of beer. He grinned, exposing two long canines, when he noticed her expression as she stared at his hands.

'_Don't worry, I won't bite.'_ He had been all business; the smile fading from his face. _'I got company in the other bedroom so keep your trap shut. We'll take it in the bathroom. I just want a blowjob. No teeth, you bite me and I'll rip your fucking jaw off. Understand?'_

Kara had nodded. _'No problem, I'm a professional.'_

He had sniggered nastily before turning and leading her into the bathroom.

What the john hadn't told her was that he had incredible staying power. He also hadn't let her in on the fact he enjoyed violence; something she didn't mind indulging as long as she was aware in advance. He had slapped her around before forcing her to her knees on the cold, hard marble and skull-fucking her for all intents and purposes. He didn't make one sound the entire time he raped her throat; gagging Kara almost to the point of passing out. Kara had lost track of how long the big bastard used her mouth like a pussy.

Finally, he had come – choking her so badly Kara had feared she might lose consciousness and die.

Trembling, Kara looked over to find the man staring down at her.

The expression in his eyes was so cold, so empty that she instinctively knew better than to back talk him. He was like an animal… a beast with no soul, no mercy, nothing. Kara saw death in those eyes which could have been beautiful if they had any emotion in them whatsoever.

"I'm going to leave." She managed to press out between numb lips.

He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "So go."

Kara was almost to the bathroom door when his voice reached her; cool, deep, and filled with warning.

"I don't suppose I have to tell you what I'll do if a pimp or any cops come sniffing around." He paused. "From one professional to another, you know."

She took a deep breath; terror coursing up and down the length of her spine. "No, you don't."

He laughed then; the sound so chilling that Kara nearly pissed down her leg. "Good girl. Now get the hell out and don't make a racket."

Kara wasted no time. She walked as quickly as her stiff, sore legs and knees would take her. People in the hotel lobby stared at her rapidly bruising face and disheveled appearance. She could hear whispers and soft gasps. When she looked over at the well-heeled older man at the concierge desk, Stefano had no expression and merely shook his head.

She hailed a cab; finally exhaling in relief as the vehicle pulled away from the curb. Sinking against the vinyl seat, Kara swore she was through selling herself. She realized exactly how close she'd come to dying.

For the first time in years, Kara Solay cried.

* * *

Victor reclined, naked and replete, against the soft pillows propped up against the headboard. He took another pull from his beer and set it down on the nightstand beside the bed. He wiped the back of his hand against his forehead and released a deep breath.

He smelled clean – male musk with faint traces of hotel soap and shampoo.

The stench of the whore was gone from him. He had scrubbed the floor in the bathroom to get rid of her reek before showering. While being feral meant he had superior physical senses, his sense of smell was extraordinary; those same senses could drive him to insanity.

Victor couldn't stand bad odors; the stink would simply build and build until he was on the verge of madness.

There were times he hated himself for his weaknesses – needing sex pissed him off more than all the others combined. Hell, he loved women in his own fashion, but he hated them just as much. Women radiated fear in his presence, even the jaded, bitter ones. No woman had willingly taken a roll in the sheets with Victor. He'd had to pay for the pleasure.

Seemed damn unfair to him that females were crawling all over Logan… hell over most of those losers Stryker had assembled as a team. Women practically pulled down their panties and begged his brother to plow them, but they wouldn't give Victor a second glance.

Victor simply hired whores – it was easier than attempting a seduction and better than letting his balls take over his brain. He had raped a few women in his time… more than a few if he was honest. He didn't exactly feel guilty about it; just dirty in a way he didn't entirely understand. He fought in battle, he got hard from the excitement, he grabbed the first woman he came across and fucked her senseless.

He didn't see what the big deal was.

Seeing as Logan threatened never to talk to him again if he continued abusing women, Victor began hiring whores on a regular basis to keep him under control. It seemed to work. He didn't even bother with intercourse and just paid to have the woman suck him off.

Tired and sated, Victor idly wondered if the girl he'd hired earlier would have permanent scars. She hadn't really been his type, he preferred older women with nice, big tits; instead she'd been tall and skinny with a pouty mouth and an attitude that screamed _spoiled princess_.

He snorted. "I need some sleep." His eyes glanced over at the phone on the nightstand. Heaving a deep sigh, Victor grabbed the phone and dialed a number he had memorized.

On the sixth ring a woman's voice sounded. "Hello?"

She sounded old and bossy.

Victor frowned. "This the Montrose School for Girls?"

"Yes, it is." The woman paused. "Is this an emergency? You must be aware that it is almost 1:30 in the morning…"

"I need to enroll my, uh, niece." Victor had cut her off; his voice brusque and all business. He knew how to deal with mouthy old bitches. "I understand it's late, but the kid's mother just died a few days ago."

The woman was silent; he swore he could hear a clock ticking in the background. "I see. Do you know where we are located, Mister…"

"Avery, William Avery. Yeah, I know where the school is." The alias was one Victor had used on and off for years. He even had a social security number in that name. A big plus was that Stryker had no clue about this particular alias.

"Very well, Mr. Avery, I can schedule an appointment to see you and your niece tomorrow afternoon at four. What is your niece's name?"

He hesitated briefly. "Birdy Lareau." Victor had just enough time before the appointment to visit an old friend who could manufacture some of the best ID documents to be had. Bernadette couldn't keep her name; too much of a chance that Stryker might decide to come looking for her.

Besides, Victor decided, Bernadette reminded him of a bird with her size and fragility. The name was good enough in his book.

"Birdy?" The woman echoed. "Poor child. I will see you both tomorrow at four sharp."

Victor set the phone back on the nightstand and turned his attention to the ceiling. He was already plotting in his mind on how to keep his eye on the kid without giving her location to Logan or Stryker or that fucker Agent Zero… he was a pain in the ass.

There was one thing Victor Creed had decided. Bernadette Chaudet had the ability to make him calm, to allow him to think rationally, to keep a modicum of sanity. Over the years the animal in him had been slowly taking over, clouding his thoughts with rage. He'd been making mistakes.

Since his two encounters with the little bird, Victor felt clear for lack of a better term.

No way in hell was he about to give that up.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and to all those reading. I would like to point out that this story will have some graphic violence and graphic sexual scenes in future chapters.

* * *

Louise Forbes had run the Montrose School for Girls since 1961. She had an eye for trouble and a talent in working with disturbed young ladies. The school had been in existence since 1895 and hundreds of young women had graduated and gone on to lead incredible lives. Montrose was a private institution that survived on donations from Seattle's upper crust society, generous tuition for those families who could afford to pay, and offerings from grateful alumni. As a boarding school, Montrose only had room for two hundred students at any one time. Girls from age six to age seventeen attended and were treated to homey dormitories, small, intimate class sizes, good food, and a general sense of well-being.

Resting against the back of her chair, Louise looked through the folder Mr. Avery had handed her when he arrived with his niece. A birth certificate, a school transcript from first grade at Arlington Elementary in Virginia, immunization records, and a death certificate for the child's mother were all in order. There was also a court order granting sole custody of the little girl to William Avery.

The office Louise enjoyed was decorated in dark-stained cherry wood panels with elaborate carving details. There were bookshelves behind her and the large, polished desk lent a sense of grandeur to a space that was actually quite small. Her college degree from Vassar was framed and on the wall near the door. She had no decorations or personal mementos other than a paper weight on the far edge of her ponderous desk made of scarlet hand-blown glass in the shape of a rose.

She closed the file and looked at Mr. Avery briefly.

He was a large man; tall and handsome in a brutish manner that turned her stomach for a reason she couldn't quite identify. His clothing was clean and neat, a black business suit and white dress shirt, with a long black jacket. Mr. Avery didn't seem interested in shaving his face which only served to heighten the animalistic aura that throbbed around him like an aching wound.

Letting her eyes fall to the small figure almost lost in the chair beside Mr. Avery, Louise smiled. "You are Miss Lareau?"

The tiny girl was seven according to her file, but she looked younger due to her small, delicate stature. Glossy, lemon-colored blonde waves fell around a face that promised certain loveliness as she grew, though not beauty by any means. Large amber-brown eyes filled with weariness stared up at her.

She nodded once.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lareau. Do you enjoy school?"

"Yes, I like school." The little girl's eyes took on a sparkle. "I especially like to read."

Louise was pleasantly surprised. The child wore a lavender dress with white tights and black Mary Jane shoes without blemish; probably a new acquisition. All in all, Louise had a good feeling about Birdy Lareau. Her guardian was a different matter altogether.

He hadn't looked at his niece once since they had been admitted to her office. Instead, Mr. Avery sat silently in his chair staring Louise down with the most chilling pair of deep blue eyes she had ever seen. The fact he was a quiet man, his niece seemed to take after him in that regard, was not so troubling as was his entire being. William Avery was not a nice man, Louise was certain of this fact. She had the feeling he would be just as happy to tear a chunk from her hide as to be forced into the chair across from her and interviewed.

"Mr. Avery, I would be very happy to admit Miss Lareau into Montrose. You are aware our tuition is ten thousand per year."

He grunted softly. "I knew it was expensive. Does ten thousand cover room and board?"

"Yes," Louise nodded briskly. "The normal semester runs from September through June with July and August as vacation months."

Avery tilted his head; his eyes sharp and thoughtful. "How much would it cost to keep Birdy here year round? My work requires extensive travel, Miss Forbes, and often overseas. I don't have the resources to take my niece with me."

The request was all business with no emotion at all.

"I can keep Miss Lareau here for the summer months as well; aside from the first two weeks of August. I travel and attend conferences during this period as do the teachers. We have a groundskeeper, but he would not be interested in chaperoning a child every year for two weeks."

Mr. Avery sighed. He rubbed the side of his face as though tired. His eyes slid to the little girl seated beside him. "I'll make arrangements to the first two weeks in August. How much extra will it cost to keep her here the rest of the summer vacation?"

"I think two thousand will cover the expense we will incur." Louise was curious. "What sort of arrangements will you make?"

Sharp, deadly eyes, narrow with disapproval, landed on her; pinning Louise to her chair. "I don't believe that's your business, Miss Forbes. With all due respect, I like my privacy."

She took a deep breath and found her courage. "I understand, Mr. Avery. I was simply concerned for Miss Lareau since you stated your work is often overseas."

Mr. Avery leaned forward and rested one large hand on the top of her immaculate desk. He stared her in the eye with deadly seriousness. "I have a house in Montana. I figure I'm due a vacation a couple weeks a year." A slight scraping sound brought Louise's eyes down. She gasped in shock as she watched the nail extend on Avery's forefinger into a claw; a claw he used to dig a little hole into the wood of her desk. "This is the deal, Miss Forbes – I pay you twelve thousand a year and you take good care of Birdy here. I come and get her for the first two weeks of August. No questions asked on your part. I will keep in contact with you to make sure the kid here is in good health. This arrangement continues until Birdy is seventeen. Understand?"

Louise gave a shaky nod. "I understand perfectly." She had no idea until this moment she was dealing with a mutant. She had no feelings one way or the other about mutants, but this one was frightening her.

Avery snickered. "I thought you might." He stood and pointed his clawed forefinger at the little girl still sitting; her face peaceful as though the monster beside her was a prince. "No questioning Birdy either and I'll know if you do. Contact the authorities, I'll make you rue the day you were born. Try to hide the kid from me and I promise you enough pain to make the annals of hell."

"I will do as you ask." Louise managed to speak from between frozen, fear-clamped lips.

He smiled at her; his eyes cold and dead. She had the unnerving vision of a Great White Shark emerging from the sea with his jaws open wide. "I _know_ you'll do as I ask. Most people do, except the stupid sheep and you don't strike me as stupid, Miss Forbes."

She reached into the desk and pulled out the standard contract; altered it to include Miss Lareau's extra expenses and stay each year. Louise quickly presented it to the mutant, Avery, and he signed it with a flourish.

Avery dropped the pen on her desk and jerked his chin at the child. "Come on, Birdy, I need to get your stuff and I want to talk to you for a minute." He glanced over at Louise; boredom replacing the evil, threatening countenance from earlier. "I'll send her back in a minute."

Louise nodded mutely. She had never been so relieved in her life as she was when William Avery left her office.

* * *

The sun was sagging on the western horizon. Dying in a rush of deep gold and staining the sky crimson with dark smudges of purples falling in behind as sunset began. The school was on the eastern edges of Seattle in an older neighborhood and situated on five acres of land that developers lusted after with great desire.

Tall pines and evergreens planted of the edges of the property formed a border against prying eyes. Verdant lawns and banks of bright flowers lent an air of gentility to the property. The Montrose School for Girls was a three story, rambling Victorian creation complete with gingerbread trim and turrets.

Warm lights were shining out of the windows like beacons.

Victor took a deep breath; he scented female pheromones from the pupils and teachers inside, freshly cut grass, bread baking, warm and yeasty, and just the barest trace of salt from the sea a few miles away.

Stars were beginning to peep out from the highest reaches of the heavens.

He let his back rest against the car. "How lovely are the portals of the night, when stars come out to watch the daylight die." Victor rubbed a hand over his face. "Thomas Cole was right on that one."

"Who is Thomas Cole?" Bernadette asked from somewhere in the vicinity of his left knee.

Victor turned his attention away from the sky and to the child looking up at him. "He was a poet and painter from a long time ago. You gonna remember what I told you about your name?"

She nodded. "My name is Birdy Lareau now and I came from Virginia. I can't tell anyone I was ever Bernadette Chaudet."

He felt a sense of pride that the kid had only needed to be drilled once on her new identity; no threats had even been issued. Victor stepped away from the car and opened the door. He pulled out the bag of Birdy's clothes and set it on the pavement beside her. "Good girl. Now, I told Miss Forbes a little fib in there. I said I had a house in Montana, but I don't. Lived there once, though, long time ago. I'm gonna find a house so when I have to take you in August we have a place to live. It's very important that when I do find us a place that you don't tell anyone where the house is. Okay?"

Birdy nodded. "Okay."

Victor ruffled her hair briefly. "I may swing by during the year to check on you." More than likely to sample Birdy's ability to calm him. He wasn't sure how long the serenity would last. "Go on in."

Birdy grabbed the bag, which was nearly as tall as she was, and began to tug as she fulfilled Victor's orders. She stopped suddenly and turned. "What is going to happen to Pépe?"

He shrugged. "Don't know, kid. I won't hurt him if that's what you're thinking." Unless her grandfather was stupid enough to cause Victor a problem. He had been monitoring the news back at base with a few phone calls to Logan. It seemed the local town was in an uproar over Bernadette Chaudet's disappearance, but there were no witnesses so he was in the clear. Jimmy hadn't even made the connection to his sudden vacation and the kid going missing.

She looked at him for a moment. "Goodbye."

Victor gave her a curt wave and watched as she turned and marched resolutely up the drive way toward the front porch of the school. He snorted at the ridiculous sight of her pulling a bag almost as large as she was. Shaking his head, Victor got in the car.

Within five minutes he was gone and he didn't look back.

* * *

The nightmare was always the same… the roaring, the pain, the feeling that the most intimate part of her anatomy was being ripped apart. Sweat soaked her brow as she moaned in pain; struggling against the overwhelming power of the giant on top of her.

'_You aren't Leni Zauber, you lying whore. I can see what your mutant ability is. Surprised I sniffed you out, huh? See, I put a bullet in Zauber's brain two days ago. No reason the two of us can't have a little fun to celebrate our… __**success**__.'_ The voice that had haunted her for three decades echoed in her mind.

Mystique screamed; her fists bunched in the bed sheets below her.

A strong hand clasped her shoulder and shook her gently. "Wake up, my dear, before someone calls the authorities."

Relief poured over Mystique like rain drenching the desert. She opened her eyes; grateful to see the handsome, refined features of the mutant she loved. Thrusting herself up, Mystique grabbed his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. He was delightfully warm and smelled of the spices in his aftershave.

After a moment, Erik Lehnsherr's arms closed around her. "Are you dreaming about him again?"

"Dreams are pleasant," she replied softly. "He is nothing but a nightmare."

Erik pushed her back and studied Mystique with shrewd, pale blue-grey eyes that missed nothing. The mutant was Magneto, a leader for those mutants who sought freedom from the tyranny of humans. He was beginning to show a little age now – lines around his eyes and his mouth. To her, Erik was the most beautiful, powerful creature on the face of the planet. It was Erik who had saved her, given her a path to follow, a cause to believe in.

He cupped her face in his hands and ran his thumbs over the silky softness of her indigo-colored skin. "You are stronger than this, Mystique, I promise you. The time is coming when Mr. Creed will receive his comeuppance and you will be the one to serve it to him. For now, I need you steady and focused. Can you do that for me?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Erik smiled at her briefly. "I knew you could." The smile died from his face and to Mystique it was like losing the sun. He reclined against the pillows and stared at the darkened ceiling above them. "We need rest. I plan on moving to Montreal in the next few days to try and drum up some support in the mutant community there. Perhaps you should check on young Graydon?"

Mystique looked away from Erik; glad her dark skin color could hide the blush of shame coloring her face. He had known about the child from his conception and had even looked forward to his birth as a time of welcoming a new mutant, a powerful ally.

Instead, her son was not a mutant at all. Graydon was completely human.

The child of two strong mutants was a puny homo sapien.

She had never been more humiliated in her life – not even when Victor Creed raped her thirty years earlier. Erik had made his displeasure clear. Mystique had placed her son in a foster family before seeing to his education anonymously.

Graydon had grown into a strong, handsome man who was tall like his father and well-built. He had the same dark hair and chiseled jawline as Creed. Graydon's eyes were not blue, but rather a deep, dark shade of grey. He was an intelligent man who made his living as a weapons system analyst for a private firm in Frankfurt, Germany.

Mystique both hated and loved her son. She despised him as weak for his ordinary human nature and for being the product of a rape. Part of her still loved him as the child of her womb that she had carried and born into the world.

Instead of following Erik's advice, Mystique lay beside him; her head tucked into his shoulder. "Graydon is thirty years old; I think he can take care of himself."

Erik turned his head in her direction and smiled. "There is my girl. Rest with me and on the morrow we will rise early to travel. The wind is turning in our favor, I can feel it."

Mystique was exhausted and soon fell into a deep sleep. She did not feel Erik gently shift her to the pillow below as he rose from their bed.

He stood for a long moment observing her before grabbing his robe from the foot of the bed and shrugging into it. He left her silently.

* * *

Erik Lehnsherr had suffered the agonies of the damned as a boy in a concentration camp. He had lost his family. In asking his lover to assassinate a German scientist in East Berlin thirty years earlier, Erik had lost a part of Mystique as well. The innocence she had exhibited so early in their relationship was gone when she returned from Germany. Her healing factor had kept Mystique from death at Victor Creed's hands, but she was different.

Cold, shrewder, calculating… Erik at first celebrated her newly hardened core.

What Erik hadn't realized for the first few months after her arrival home was that the American government had sent an assassin as well to target Dr. Schweiger for his experimentation on mutant blood samples. He was an independent contractor with a reputation for ruthlessness.

Mystique confessed this _Victor Creed_ had raped her.

Erik frowned as he crossed the cold marble hall and entered his study. At first, he had been furious Mystique had shown any weakness. The more he researched Creed, the more Erik realized that despite her own solid strengths Mystique had been no match for the feral mutant in combat. Creed could heal almost instantly and fought with a ferocity that was legendary among the American mutant community.

He sat at his desk and raised his hand. The phone slid across the desk and now sat directly in front of him.

Wiping his eyes, Erik remembered discovering Mystique was with child. Jealousy was not an emotion he understood – he and Mystique had an open relationship of sorts. He had other women from time to time when he fancied their company and Mystique had her conquests as well. They stayed together precisely because there was no jealousy between them. Each knew the other was devoted in their own fashion and this was certainly more than what many romantic partners had.

He had thought Mystique would give birth to a mutant at least as strong as she was.

Instead the boy had been a weakling… human straight to the core.

_How disappointing._

Erik picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. "Are you watching our friend?"

The dark voice that answered him was gruff. "Indeed, I am."

"Good," Erik pronounced gravely. "I have plans for Graydon. He may yet prove himself to be useful."

"He keeps a routine, has a few friends, mostly works and keeps his nose clean."

Erik frowned. "I could care less. He is human after all and inferior to us in every way. I do believe, however, the time is coming when Graydon will give us an edge over Victor Creed."

The voice on the telephone line went silent for several seconds. "Creed is a butcher and a traitor to our kind. I hear tales that Creed helps Stryker capture mutants for _experimentation_. He is a bastard."

"I know all about what Creed and others of his ilk have done." Erik rubbed his temple. "The time is coming when karma will catch up with Victor Creed. I believe a dose of revenge is in store and Graydon will most definitely be able to help us with that. Keep a very good eye on Mystique's boy. I don't want any unforeseen accidents affecting him. He needs to be good and healthy when I have use for him. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," the voice croaked like a toad on the other end of the line.

"Good." Erik hung up the phone and returned to his bedroom. Mystique was on her belly with her face buried in the pillows in a pose of serenity.

He removed his robe and placed it on the end of the bed before easing himself down beside his lover.

Mystique seemed to sense his presence and rolled onto her side before burying her face in his shoulder again. Erik relaxed and let himself enjoy her touch. "Sleep, my dear, for soon enough we will have all the trouble we can handle."


End file.
